Freedom
by Ibbonray
Summary: "A fellow Gamemaker once told me, 'Life is a game of chess. You think you've got everything planned out perfectly and then the other player makes a move that causes you to lose the game.' How right he was. For I've lost the game." Seneca Crane's last thoughts before he dies in an attempt to show that Snow doesn't control what he does. One-shot. Rated T for Seneca's death. COMPLETE.


**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games or the movie based on the Hunger Games.**

**So I took interest in Seneca and thought his death scene was really intense and suspenseful, so I thought I'd write about it. Wanted to make him rebellious, too, just a little bit. Please, R&R, and share your thoughts with me! Criticism is always welcome!**

**-Ibbonray**

A fellow Gamemaker once told me, "Life is a game of chess. You think you've got everything planned out perfectly and then the other player makes a move that causes you to lose the game."

How right he was. For I've lost the game… and I was supposed to be a champion.

The president's champion.

From early on I knew I was different. The other children my age would go out to play and I would sit, still and silent, watching rerun after rerun of the Hunger Games. They fascinated me in a way that nothing had ever fascinated me before; because if you look past the blood and the gore and the twenty-tree dying tributes, you see what the Games are really about.

The president has opened my eyes. It is about fear, of course, but it is also about hope.

Hope is a strange thing. It's a tiny little mockingjay that has taken flight from its nest for the first time, but it cannot use its wings until allowed. And that's what Snow wants. He wants us all to allow hope's wings to spread and let the bird fly for only a few fleeting seconds; enough for the bird to come out of the fall alive, but injured.

That's what this has all come to. I, as Head Gamemaker, chose to let the bird fly. The irony of it; to die at the hands of a young mockingjay who gave Panem too much hope. And to think I did a favor for that mockingjay, for she would be dead if not for me.

That's right, Katniss Everdeen. You are our hope.

It is not to say that I am entirely disloyal to Snow, disloyal to the Capitol. You see, we are all human beings, and it is our duty to offer remorse at the worst of times. I do enjoy directing the Games; and I do think they are a slightly different way of knitting us all together as one large family, of a sort.

But I am not a bloodthirsty killer. I accomplish what I set out to accomplish, and that is leading the way to a perfect society. So far, paving the road of Head Gamemaker has proved fitting for myself, and I intended on never letting my occupation slip away.

But it did. With a mere handful of berries.

I put my head in my hands. Surely this isn't the worst way to die; starve to death or poison myself. The heavy silver doors are locked, the window is locked, and there is no way to get out. To break the window would mean getting though a force field, of course, so I only have two ways to die.

No, no, five. I could die of thirst, or burn myself to a crisp on the force field, or slam my own head against the silver doors.

Look what I have come to! Plotting my own death. But I have no other choice. They have locked me in here because I allowed two victors; and I allowed hope to spread her wings.

Funny, how Snow added the poison berries to this prison just to tempt me. Thought it would be amusing to watch me gorge myself on this deadly fruit. Only a fair few people know the president's well kept secret of how he poisoned each and every one of his enemies to gain control of the government.

Am I the enemy? It would seem so.

I get up from the floor and stroke my beard thoughtfully, staring at the berries. The girl, she called them nightlock. Deadly name for a deadly berry, and to think that the Gamemaker who was in charge of fruits and nuts was Plutarch Heavensbee! Adding them to the mix was a tricky tactic, I must say.

Then I think of the girl from Five. Surely she would have known what this berry was. She passed the edible plants test in a blink of an eye and nightlock was listed there—I am positive.

I laugh. Suicide. Trickery. Rebellion. All these words flash into my mind and I realize that the girl from District Five outsmarted them all.

You'd think the idea of rebellion would repulse me. But Snow was the one who locked me in this room; who wouldn't support the banishment of such a peculiarly bloodthirsty and coldly calculating man?

He has the pieces on his chessboard just the way he wants them and there is only one move left and that might change the whole ending results.

And the piece's name is Katniss.

I am pelted with realization after realization, and finally find that Snow is not the man he claims to be. Nobody is the man he claims to be. Not the Careeres in the arena this year; the pair from Two had some sort of strong connection, although they hid it as well as they could. Not Plutarch Heavensbee; the nightlock was another move in his chess game to eliminate me so he can continue on with the rebellion (yes, it's obvious now that he is part of it). Not even myself. I am not Seneca Crane, Gamemaker, anymore. I am Seneca, the poor man from the Capitol who gave hope freedom and then paid the price.

I pluck a berry from the glass bowl in front of me and roll it around my fingers, then break the thin outer skin with my fingernail. Red juice oozes out and I chuckle, knowing my last visible struggle will be a permanent one. For this juice should stain impressively.

I crush another few nightlock berries over my fingers, approach the bone white wall, and begin to write a type of old poetry that has been almost forgotten as the years go by—I think it is called a haiku.

_Someday hope will fly_

_ And she'll light a single spark_

_ Flames engulf the snow._

Then I'm finished. It's as if the words were painted with blood, to my satisfaction. My last attempt at saying they don't control me.

Because they never will.

I scoop up a handful of berries and study them closely. So this was what the girl from Five felt like during her last breath. She sacrificed her life because she knew that the Capitol didn't own her, and she wasn't going to become victor anyway.

I smile slightly, and pluck one single nightlock berry from the small mound resting on my palm, and then scatter the others around, staining the floor with blood red juice.

Although I know Snow will add me to his 'killed list' as another one of his poisonings, it's as if this little action I am about to perform does everything justice, and shows up the Capitol in a way only I can envision. I am going to swallow the rebellion and leave at my own will.

Goodbye, Panem.

Goodbye, Capitol.

Goodbye, Gamemakers.

Goodbye, Games.

Goodbye, Snow.

Goodbye, Hope.

I'll see you soon, Freedom.

And I swallow the berry whole.

Because my name is Seneca Crane,

and although the Games were my way of life,

and although President Snow used me as his pawn,

and although I caused the death of 68 children,

I will die a good man.

And I'm on my way to freedom.


End file.
